As Long as Possible
by tukes
Summary: This is the story of Peter, a young man living in london who has to fight to survive. The first chapter is a bit short, but at least it's a start. Rating will change as we get into the story more.
1. Peter, Peter, strong and able

**As Long as Possible**

Peter Melaine looked down the street as he and his friend Nick walked towards the flat that they shared.

"Well, that was a bloody bust." Said Nick unhappily, interlocking his fingers and putting them behind his head.

"Why did we have to deliver that package again?" said Peter, rubbing the deep slash on his forearm from the junkie's knife, wincing as he did so.

"Dunno, Damien just said he needed it." Said Nick, handing Peter a cigarette and lighting it for him.

"Maybe it's for the best that we don't do anything for him again in the near future." Said Peter, exhaling the deadly cloud of tar and toxins.

"These things are killing us you know." He said conversationally.

"Yup," said Nick "how about we try to quit this weekend?" Peter nodded and continued walking towards the flat. When they got inside, he flopped down on the couch and switched on the telly.

"What's happening on the news?" called Nick from the kitchen as he called the take out shop for their dinner.

"Another one of those bloody riots. This one is in... No!" he shouted, jumping up.

"What? What's wrong?" shouted Nick, dropping the phone. "There is a bloody riot in Sandford!" he shouted, running into the kitchen and snatching up the phone.

"Who are you calling?" said Nick. "My mum and dad! Who do you think?" He said angrily, punching the numbers into the pad with excessive force.

"Well use your bloody mobile and stop smashing the bloody wall mount one to bits!" Shouted Nick. Peter ignored him, and waited as the phone at his parents house ran once... twice... on the third ring, his mother answered the phone.

"Hullo?" "Mum! You and dad have got to get out of sandford!" shouted Peter, positively hopping with adrenaline.

"Why? We're fine. The rioting hasn't come into our part of the-" the phone crashed to the floor and Peter heard screams. His mother was being murdered while still of the phone. He started screaming

"Mum! Mum!" but the only answer he got was the new noise of his father coming down the stairs and being slaughtered as well. He looked at the television screen, and actually saw his parent's house and his mother. His mother was being savagely attacked by a huge crowd of people. he dropped the phone and started to sob. After a few minutes he went towards the closet hallway.

"Where the hell do you think you are going!" shouted Nick.

"I am going to go buy some shells for the pistol and the rifle. I'm gonna protect myselfe. You should come along mate. Get a weapon. Cause whatever is causing that riot... well, as you can see it's headed right for us." He opened the door and pulled out the .45 from his dads brief stint in the military. Along with it, he brought out the mosin nagant rifle, the one he had bought three years previously for the nostalgia of owning a world war two weapon. Putting it into a case, he walked out the door and down towards the elevator. Once inside, he took it down to the lobby and walked out the doors towards the shop down the street. After he got to the counter, he set down the two firearms and when the clerk looked at him in askance, simply said.

"Shells. As many as can fit into this." he pulled two medium sized backpacks off of a nearby rack and set them on the counter as well. "Fill one with .45 caliber pistol ammo, and the other with Mosin Nagant ammunition." The clerk did this, then rung up the price.

"one hundred and seventy eight pounds, sir." Peter produced a checkbook and wrote out the amount, then handed it to the clerk. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what all the shells are for?" the clerk said haltingly.

"You know about the riots?" said peter. The clerk nodded.

"Well, then you know what the shells are for, don't you mate?" he said, shouldering the packs and weapons, then walking out the door. The clerk thought about this for a moment, and then he walked to the door, locked it, and closed the metal grate over it. He picked up a pistol from under the counter, and set out ammunition for it.

"If that bloke is right," he thought, "Then I'm happy I spent all that money on vending machines and beef jerky." Even as these two individuals went their separate ways, in the back of their minds, both knew what was going on. The whole bloody world was ending. And only the ones who can fight are going to survive for any length of time.

Well, that is it for the first chapter... please, R & R, I would appreciate it a lot.


	2. Calm before the storm

Chapter 2

In short order.

Peter opened the door to his flat and walked to his room. Before he could get there, however, Nick barred his way with his arm. "Tell me what the hell is going on, or I swear to god you will not walk out of this flat." He said glaring at Peter. He pushed past Nick and set down the packs on his bed, then turned to face his friend.

"Tonight, I saw my mother and father brutally murdered by huge mass of people. I don't know why they were killed, but I do know that those mobs are headed right for us. London is going to fall to these... desecrators? They destroyed my family. I will take as many of them with me when my time comes as possible. Be that today, next week, or in a year. But they are coming mate, and here we are pissing around while people are getting killed. We should get it together. Now, if you don't think that this is a good cause, I'll leave, I'll find a defendable position. I'll make a last stand. But mate, here we go. This is it. Front row seats to the end of the world." He sighed heavily and reached under his bed for the sword that was given to him years ago by his fathers friend, a sword smith, and strapped it to his back. 

"You do realize that when this happens you might very well be killed?" said Nick incredulously.

"Yes. Yes I do realize that. In fact, the most probable outcome is death. So I'm going to go find a shop and hole myself up inside of it, if it has food and things like that." He took out a holster and strapped it to his right leg, slipping the pistol into the nylon and closing the snap. For the ammunition, he took out two messenger bags and put them on with the bands crossing each other Rambo style. In one he put the Mosin stripper clips; in the other he dropped full clips of .45 ammo. Then he put the strap of the Mosin over his shoulder and turned to face Nick. He looked at his friend, and walked over to him, putting out his hand.

"Mate," he said with an odd tone in his voice,

"we've seen good and bad. But this is going to be the worst of it. Ever. Just remember, if we survive, I'll wait for you near the Eye. Goodbye." They clasped forearms and pulled themselves into a rough hug, then they let go, and both looked towards the television.

"This has just been handed to me." A commentator was saying to the camera.

"Riots have started on the east side of London. Anyone in that area is requested to leave immediately, as police are informing me that these people are unarmed, though highly dangerous. Our very own Terrence Stevens is there with a squad, Terrence, can you hear us?" the camera switched over to a scene of insane violence. Terrence was currently being mauled by a large man with blood flying from his mouth. The camera was lying apparently abandoned on the ground. The image changed hurriedly back to the dumbstruck commentator. Peter switched it off.

"I'm going to go find that shop." He walked out the door, but before he closed it, he heard Nick shout

"Wait!" after a few minutes he came thumping out, a machete strapped to his belt and a Mac 10 in his hands.

"Where on gods green earth did you get that from?" demanded Peter pointing at the machine pistol.

"You think I deliver those drugs for Damien out of charity? Nah, mate. I make him pay out the bloody nose." He said grinning. He opened a backpack and showed Peter the contents, and peter nodded appreciatively. Inside were almost twenty boxes of ammunition for the pistol, and also a set of walkie-talkies.

"What are we, seven?" said Peter as he took his, clipping it to a shoulder strap and putting on the headset.

"Well, think of it this way. If we get separated, hell at least we won't be out of touch you bloody moron." Nick replied, cuffing Peter on the ear. The two of them set out, soldiers of coincidence, to fight an endless tide of diseased and unceasing enemies


	3. Not one step back

Chapter 3

Not one step back

Peter ran down some alley in the centre of London, constantly on the alert for any infected he may see. It had been three days since the infection reached the city, and he was not about to take any chances. Nick was back at the shop, and that's where he was headed. As he ran across a street, he saw a woman being chased by at least ten infected. 

He shouted to her, "Get down!" but she kept on running. She was tall, about five eleven he would guess, and she held in her right hand a machete. She ran towards him, screaming for him to get moving, she was fine.

"No, listen, go to the shop with the Australian flag pinned over it and tell the man inside that Peter sent you to go there!" she nodded and took off, seeing the blue from where they were. Peter turned and leveled his rifle at the nearest one.

"Die you inhuman sons of bitches!" he shouted as his hands furiously worked the bolt and trigger. Five of them collapsed, and he didn't have time to load a second clip, so he ripped the sword from the scabbard on his back and made a slash at the nearest one, severing the throat. Even as it went down, he spun to avoid the others, neatly decapitating one on a pass. The last three he killed using the .45 he managed to get out of the holster and into their skulls, causing blood and brains to go flying in a mix of chips of bone and gunpowder. Carefully wiping the sword clean of any infected blood, he then putting it into the scabbard. He reloaded the rifle and pistol, though keeping the pistol clip in case of an emergency. After making sure he was not followed, he ran back to the shop and went inside, closing the metal grate behind him.

"Where the hell have you been!" shouted Nick at him.

"One second you are here, the next you're gone and I'm hearing bloody gunshots and some woman runs up to the door!" he tossed his hands up into the air and turned his back on Peter.

"I couldn't just let her die out there!" shouted Peter, tossing the bags off of his shoulders and sitting down on a couch.

"If anyone gives a rat's ass, my name isn't "some woman" it's Elaine." Said the girl. Peter looked at her and took her in fully for the first time. She was tall, but that was because she was wearing thick combat boots, but then so were Nick and Peter. Elaine walked over to Peter and put out her hand.

"You saved my life, I owe you for that." She said calmly. It was not reluctant; it was a statement of fact. He shook her hand and then stood up to go over to the icebox and pick out some food.

"We are going to have to raid the supermarket again soon. We're running out of everything." Nick just nodded and looked out at the street, towards the mass of vehicles just sitting there and rotting without anyone left alive or capable to drive them.

"I still say we should get out of London. It's too dangerous to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary. We could get killed at any moment!" Nick said angrily. Peter glared at him.

"We've been over this a hundred times. We cannot leave." Said Peter darkly. He went up the stairs to the roof. As was his custom, he picked up a pair of very strong binoculars. And, as was his custom, he always trained them on the far away signs of infection. Fires that suddenly leap up out of nowhere. Gunshots, screams, things of the like. He shuddered. He looked towards the centre of the city, where all of the shops that would be perfect were. But they had all-glass fronts that would certainly have been broken by infected getting at shoppers. The buildings were probably teeming with infected. He shook his head and picked up a rifle with a high-powered scope and started to pick off infected at a distance. This was their only pastime, aside from going for food or ammunition. Suddenly, he heard the chatter of the Mac 10, from inside the building. Ripping open the holster, he brought out the .45 and ran down the stairs. When he got into the shop, Nick was standing over the body of Elaine, the gun was still smoking.

"What the hell did you do you son of a bitch!" shouted Peter as he punched Nick in the chest, sending him slipping across the growing pool of blood that was blossoming from Elaine. Nick just stared blankly at him, his eyes showing no emotion whatsoever. He punched Nick in the face, and kicked the Mac 10 away from him and put his boot on his chest. Pointing the pistol at his face, he started to sprout obscenities and accusations.

"Why, Nick, why the hell did you need to go and kill her!" he finally shouted at the top of his voice. He heard, distantly the sounds of an infected at the metal grate. He ignored it.

"She said that we were going to die. She said it was hopeless." Said Nick feebly. Then he forced Peter away from him, and bolted for the grate.

"No you dumb bastard!" screamed Peter, taking aim. He watched almost as if in slow motion as Nick ripped open the grate, and the infected fell upon him. Peter ran, in a fog, to close the grate. But not before three infected got in. He put bullets in all of them, but one of them was only wounded. He picked up a cinderblock from the corner and slammed it into the man's skull, sending a sheet of blood and brains over the floor. He then took a mop and some cleaning supplies from the back of the shop, and set about cleaning up the gore. Elaine's body he tossed off the back of the building, as close to a decent burial as he could do. The infected he simply rolled off the roof into an already overflowing dumpster, then tossing a lit Molotov cocktail. He looked at the remains of his best friend once he returned to the lower bit of the shop. Nick had been savagely ripped apart, his leg was gone, both of his eyes as well. His stomach had been ripped from his body, along with most of his innards.

Peter ran to the bucket to vomit, retching until he purged everything from his body, and even then the bile continued to come in short, burning and pain full bursts. Peter draped a tarp over the front of the shop to avoid seeing the horrible carnage, but the image was burned into his mind. For a few days, he stayed in the place. He then packed his things, along with Nick's Mac 10 and the ammunition in the backpack, and set out into London. He found a hospital, and went inside. Once there, he found a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen, eating what appeared to be the remains of a hospital worker. Without even making a noise, he stuck the blade of his sword into the base of the teen's neck, and he slumped over to the side, blood pouring out of him.

Peter kicked the pitiful creature, in his anger he felt no remorse. A woman and a child soon came after him, and he sent them to hell with two short bursts of gunfire, barely blinking as the child's head exploded and the woman's chest became so much bloody pulp. After a bit he found the underground station, and decided to try his luck. He went down inside, and oh, happy day, a tram was waiting for him. The conductor appeared to have been ripped to shreds over to the left, and the keys were still in the ignition. He switched on the tramcar, and proceeded down the dark tunnel. The tram smashed into dozens of infected that wandered the tunnels, eventually surfacing on a bridge over the Themes river. He stopped the train and waited for the infected to arrive. But even as he watched, a light began flashing on the other side of the tracks. Someone was signaling him. He activated the tram again and went towards the flashing, jumping out when a young woman and a young man ran towards him, both of them holding machetes.

"Well mate, you're a sight for sore eyes, I can tell you that!" crowed the man, hopping with pleasure. The woman looked at him warily. "Are you the bloke with the sniper rifle?" she asked calmly, pointing at the Mosin with the special scope clipped to it.

"Well, sort of I guess. How did you know?" asked Peter, self contentiously pushing the rifle behind his back. The woman shrugged. "Saved us a few days back, you did. Three infected had us cornered, and suddenly one of their bloody heads explodes. Gave us a right turn when that happened." She said conversationally. Peter nodded; he remembered wondering why those three had stopped moving.

"Damn near shot me while you were doing it mate!" said the man, hopping onto the tram and looking it over. "She's a right beauty, mate. Where'd you find her?" he said running his hands over the controls. "About five miles back in the bloody station. Place was crawling with infected." He said casually. The two gawked at him. "You went into the underground? Willingly? Alone?" said the woman incredulously. "Does it look like I just picked it up at the bloody shop? Of course I went underground! I've been alone for five days, my best mate was ripped to shreds in front of me!" shouted Peter, realizing he was being an ass, but not really caring. He had suffered enough without these people and their bloody idiotic questions.

"Calm down mate, we were just thinking maybe you should've waited to meet another person, or people. Can't hurt to have a group." Peter only shrugged and looked over at the bank across the street. He then noticed the armored car, the one that would most certainly be full of petrol. He called to the other two, telling them his plan. They agreed, and once inside the truck, the woman turned to him.

"By the way, my name is Natasha. My friend is Richard." Peter nodded. "I'm Peter, and from the looks of things, were going to have to learn to like each other if we want to survive." He put out his hand, and solemnly shook with Natasha, then Richard. "Right mates; let's get this show on the road. It's high time that I got some country air, and that smell is going to make me sick soon." Said Richard. Peter shrugged off the Mosin, putting it next to the driver's seat and started the engine, smiling as the fuel meter went from E to F in seconds.

"Onward, my brethren, defend your English earth! Death to the infected invaders, bringing pain upon our great country! Forward! Do not count days, do not count miles, count only the number of infected you have killed! Always forwards! Not one step back!" crowed Peter. "Nice speech." Said Natasha, grinning. "Thanks," said Peter, "Got it from a video game." And with those words, they began smashing their way through the city, going for the only safe place they could think of. The countryside. 


End file.
